An Honest Mistake
by Phoesong
Summary: It was simple. Wirt only had two things to do this weekend: Finish his drama project and look after Greg. Then Greg drank the apple juice...which actually turned out to be apple cider. And the adults aren't coming back until Monday afternoon. Oh Crud.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note****: Sorry. I had to do it...And this is what happens when a plot bunny hits you at 2 in the morning. This is my first _Over the Garden Wall_ fanfiction, so any feedback is appreciated. :)**

**Thanks!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own OTGW**

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><p>"-And don't forget to make sure Greg goes to bed by 8:30," His stepfather rumbled, looking extremely concerned as he stood on the doorway. Even though he had been told the same spiel five times already, Wirt nodded patiently.<p>

"Don't worry!" Wirt said firmly, looking confident. "I can look after Greg with no problem. It's all under control."

His stepfather only looked at him with distrust. "The last time you said that," he growled in a deep baritone. "Both of you ended up in critical condition at the hospital."

Wirt felt a twinge of guilt. If he hadn't woken up in time, he and Greg could have drowned in the lake. And it all happened because he had been too busy worrying over Sarah's tape.

His mother materialized and placed a reassuring hand on his stepfather's shoulder. "Now, dear, don't be so harsh on Wirt. After all, he did save Greg." She faced her son. "You will look after your brother, right?"

"Definitely." Wirt looked determined.

His stepfather grunted, then poked his head into the house. "Greg!" He called out. "Your mother and I are leaving!" The pitter-patter of tiny footsteps and a giggle sounded down the stairs before the young boy himself bounced over to his father.

"Okay!" He chirped. "Have a nice weekend!"

The man's intimidating eyes softened. "That I will, Greg. If you need anything, talk to Wirt. And if Wirt's not treating you the way he should-" He sent Wirt a threatening glare that shriveled the teen's insides - "Don't be scared to let us know."

"Don't worry, dad!" Greg exclaimed cheerfully, completely oblivious to Wirt stiffening behind him. "Wirt's really good at taking care of me. See?" He pulled back a sleeve from his arm and pointed at a spot. "He put this band-aid on me when I tripped outside yesterday!"

With a final chuckle, the man ruffled Greg's hair before their mother fussed over them, straightening out Greg's crumpled clothes (Greg laughed at the ticklish sensation) and smoothing out Wirt's messy hair ("Mom! I'm fine!" he protested, ducking his head). She looked at Wirt with worried eyes. "Remember, there's leftovers in the fridge. Snacks and juice boxes are in the pantry if you get hungry. If anything important comes up, call us. You know our number."

"Wirt." His stepfather faced him sternly. "You're solely responsible for what goes on here while we're away. If anything happens to Greg-" He leaned in, and Wirt flinched. He could feel the man's hot breath on his ear. "You will be held accountable." Without even a farewell, his stepfather briskly turned around to his car parked on the driveway.

"Dear, please forgive your stepfather," His mother sighed. "You know how he can get a little...neurotic about these things. I'll talk to him." She looked at her son sadly. "He really does care for you deep inside."

Wirt felt a lump rise in his throat. "It's okay, mom." He smiled weakly. "Enjoy celebrating your wedding anniversary."

"You're a good boy. I believe you can take care of Greg with no problem," She said softly. His mother shot him one final sad smile before walking towards her husband. In seconds, the car peeled away. Watching the car vanish around the corner, Wirt quietly shut the door.

* * *

><p>Late Saturday morning, Wirt walked down the stairs yawning. Heating the ready-made porridge from the fridge, he didn't have to wait long before his little brother ran down the stairs excitedly, holding a frog in his clutches.<p>

"Morning Wiiiiiiiiirt!" Greg called out enthusiastically.

Wirt smiled back. "Morning, Greg." His little brother's optimism was contagious, starting off every day a little brighter. Seizing his spoon, Greg began to stuff his mouth with porridge at an alarming pace.

"Greg, don't eat too quickly or you'll-" Greg started choking. "GREG!" Wirt stumbled over to his brother's side in panic, but he seemed to have recovered. Exhaling in relief, Wirt ran a hand down his face. "Don't do that! You made me worry for no reason!"

"You do worry about a lot of things," Greg chimed. "Maybe that's why mom named you Wirt."

"...Huh?'

"You're a Worrywirt!" Greg said matter-of-factly with wide eyes, before he poked his brother playfully on the shoulder. Jason Funderburker gave a loud croak.

"I'm not a worrywart, I just want the house to be in perfect order before mom comes home."

"-And dad," Greg chimed in.

"...And dad," Wirt added somewhat lamely. _He's not my dad. I already have a dad, and he's on the other side of the garden wall._

"Wirt?" The elder brother snapped out of his brooding to notice Greg staring back innocently. "Why doesn't Jason Funderburker have any porridge for breakfast?"

"Because he's a frog. Frogs eat flies. And insects." Wirt looked at the frog. It gazed back somewhat sadly. "Sorry."

"It's okay, Jason! You can eat some of my porridge!" Greg said moving the bowl closer to the frog. "Sharing is caring!"

"No, sharing is not caring in this case," Wirt said firmly, pulling the bowl back. "You or Jason Funderburker might get sick, and I can't drive you to the hospital this weekend."

Greg paused thoughtfully. "Then can I feed him frog food?"

Wirt relaxed into a smile. "Yeah, sure." As Greg carried Jason Funderburker over to his tank, Wirt reached up and fumbled for the frog food from atop the bookcase in the livingroom. He handed it to Greg, who eagerly poured in a generous amount. For several minutes, the two boys crouched by the frog tank, watching Jason Funderburker swallow the flies.

"So, um, Greg?" His younger brother stared back at him expectantly. Wirt looked into his eyes very seriously. "I have a really important project for my drama class that I want to finish this weekend. It's worth a third of my final grade. I can't be disturbed, so I'll be in my room. If you need anything, just knock." Wirt gave a warm grin. "Okay?"

"Okay!" Greg chirped in agreement. "I'm going to my room to talk to my rocks!" he said excitedly. "...And that's a rock fact!" He added before running up the stairs.

_Well. That worked out better than he had expected._

"Let's do this," The teen muttered under his breath before snatching several bags of popsicle sticks and glue. This was going to be a long day.

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><p>Wirt glued the end of the popsicle stick with trembling fingers. As if he were handling fragile glass, he stuck the popsicle stick onto the delicate structure and pressed it with his fingers gently.<p>

His highschool made drama class mandatory to all students. Many of his friends bemoaned that fact, complaining that it was a waste of time, but Wirt secretly enjoyed it. While he didn't necessarily care much for acting, he loved perusing through the literary works of Shakespeare to Homer. Each word made up a sentence, each sentence crafted the page. Each page was an art of work, a sweet fruit born from effort and time.

Every year, the teacher gave the same project: Submitting any handmade Three-dimensional model to better understand that even the tiniest of details was important in making big achievements.

...Which was why Wirt was building a model of the Eiffel Tower out of popsicle sticks. He wished that the project was not required to be 3D (at least he could enjoy writing poetry instead), but as it wasn't, a disgruntled Wirt was finishing the project with the air of someone who just wanted to get an unpleasant task over with. But the more time he spent on the project, the more his over-cautious nature kicked in, and the more determined he became to make a presentable model.

After what seemed like a few hours, there was a gentle rap on his door. Wirt squinted, completely absorbed by his repetitive task. "Just a second!" He called out.

After another few agonizing minutes, he finally attached the popsicle stick in a satisfying position. Briefly, he allowed himself a glimpse at the hand-drawn blueprint of the model he had sketched. _According to the blueprint, he only had a few more left...it couldn't hurt to finish the project before checking on Greg, right?_

A second knock interrupted his thoughts. "Wirt?" Greg's muffled voice filtered into the room. His little brother opened the door a crack.

"Yeah?" He asked, eyes unwavering from the blueprint.

"I was saving Jason Funderburker from the trolls when I felt thirsty. But then I found some really good apple juice and thought you might be hungry." Curious eyes peered at him in the corner of his vision, and Greg waved the full jar around. "Want some?"

"No, I'm good, thanks." Wirt responded vaguely, lost in thought.

"No problem!" He barely heard Greg chirp before shutting the door again.

Reaching for another popsicle stick, Wirt squirted the glue with sticky fingers, then cautiously added piece after piece with painstaking consideration. Stick, glue, paste. Stick, glue, paste. Stick, glue, paste...

* * *

><p>His arms and back ached painfully. Glue coated his hands and hair in a sticky mess. His throat felt uncomfortably dry.<p>

_I don't ever want to do this project again._

But a magnificent minuscule replica of the Eiffel Tower now sat on his desk. His cautious gluing paid off; Each side of the tower was smooth with no irregular bulges, and the tower was perfectly balanced and symmetric. He marveled at the painstaking detail, tracing over the smooth edges with a gentle finger. _I can't believe I made this..._

A silly grin spread across his face. He was done. Finished. Complete. "YES! NEVERMORE!" He crowed in his excitement. _I bet Greg would be thrilled to see this._

"Greg?" He called. When he heard nothing, he wasn't worried; his little brother was probably lost in his little world of imagination. Walking out of his own room with cramped joints, Wirt knocked on the door right on the opposite side.

"Hey, Greg, sorry I took so long. Do you want to get something to eat?" He frowned. "Greg?" He opened his brother's room, but it was empty. Starting to panic now, Wirt bolted down the stairs.

"Greg, this isn't funny," he shouted, desperately straining to hear a reply, a giggle, or even a tiny footstep. Just something, _anything_ other than the cold silence that greeted his ears. He was about to call for his brother again when he heard a crash coming from the kitchen. Immediately, he ran over without hesitation.

To his relief, he found the young boy sitting on the floor giggling himself silly as he hugged an empty jar. "Greg!" He exclaimed, bustling over...but his relief was short lived. Something was terribly wrong.

"Wirt!" The boy grinned goofily, head slightly lopsided. "You look funny. Did you always have a funny nose?" Greg tried to pinch Wirt's nose, but underestimated the distance and tumbled forward. With a yelp of shock, Wirt grabbed him before Greg could hurt himself.

"Greg, what in the world...?" Wirt muttered, perplexed.

His little brother gave a silly smile before grabbing his brother's nose. "...Got your conk!" Greg erupted into uncontrollable giggles again before he frowned, gazing blankly into Wirt's face.

"Your nose...," he slurred. "It looks like a triangle."

"Yes, my nose looks like a triangle," Wirt murmured absentmindedly, mind racing. Greg's behavior didn't make any sense. The laughing, maybe, but Greg was giggling himself silly at...well...everything. That wasn't normal. Plus there was the incoherent slurring, the stumbling around, then the suspicious smell of his breath...

But Greg couldn't be drunk. Wirt fervently tried recalling anything he could have eaten that might have been alcoholic, but drew a blank. Greg hadn't eaten anything in the past hour except the apple juice-

The apple juice.

"Greg, where did you find the apple juice?" Wirt demanded fearfully. His brother didn't respond and lay down on his back, looking stupidly happy. The empty jar Greg had been hugging caught Wirt's eye. He shakily picked up the empty jar. Dread filled him as he made his way to the pantry and slowly scanned its contents, desperate to be proven wrong.

Alas, his suspicions were correct when he noticed the unopened pack of juice boxes on the middle shelf. A shelf Wirt would have no problem reaching for, but might be an impossible feat for someone as short as Greg. He peered into the bottom shelf, where his stepfather stored his homemade apple cider.

One bottle was missing.

Wirt felt a cold realization seep in through his bones. "Oh no," he whispered. His eyes darted back to his brother, who had dissolved into another fit of giggling. "This is bad. _Really_ bad."


	2. Chapter 2

Greg giggled uncontrollably, now making imaginary snow angels on the marble ground. "Look at me, Wirt! This is so much fun!"

After freezing in shock for several seconds, Wirt immediately darted over for the phone. Almost dropping it in his panic, he punched in the number at top speed. Frantic thoughts raced through his head.

_Don't worry, mistakes happen...right? Your stepfather would probably understand...or that's what you'd like to think. Way to go, Wirt._

His hand abruptly halted at the last few digits, cold fingers trembling in trepidation. Gulping, he dialed the rest of the number with agonizing anticipation...

And waited...

And waited...

**And waited...**

**"Sorry, the person you are trying to call is unavailable at the moment. Please leave a message for the voicemail." **

Immediately, Wirt snapped the phone shut, conflicted feelings of relief and horror battling out in his chest. He could hear his heart thumping loudly in his ribcage, and breathed in deeply to control himself. He wasn't going to be toast, at least not yet. Wirt wracked his brains for a solution.

"Think, Wirt, THINK!" He muttered, tapping his head. He glanced over at the clock. 4 PM. In any case, he should keep an eye out for Greg-

-who was no longer lying on the kitchen floor.

"Oh no. Oh no no no no!" Wirt stammered, striding over in a panicked daze. He rubbed his eyes. "This isn't happening to me, this isn't happening to me!" He exhaled several panicked gasps before darting through the living room.

"Greg? GREG!"

"Bluebird~!"

Wirt halted in front of the cabinet. Slowly, with growing dread, he looked upwards. Somehow, his little brother had clambered up the tall cabinet (how was that possible?). Greg giggled, and waved a hand down at him furiously.

"Wirt! Imma bluebird like Beatrice!" He slurred happily. He flapped his arms. "Tweet Tweet!"

Wirt stepped forward, relieved. "Yes, tweet tweet. Come on, Greg, let's get you down from- GREG!"

"WHEEEEEEEEEE!" To Wirt's horror, Greg suddenly launched off the cabinet, laughing.

"NO!" Wirt shouted, diving desperately like a bridemaid trying to grab the wedding bouquet. Not a second too late. Greg was luckily nestled safely in his arms, giggling. On the other hand, Wirt painfully crash-landed hard on his sore back. Stars blinked in his vision, and a aching groan escaped from his lips.

"Aughhhhhhhhh..."

"I flew!" Greg's head popped up excitedly. Wirt wearily rubbed his bruised shoulder.

This was going to be a long night.

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><p>Wirt's fears were quickly realized. A giggling Greg was effortlessly running in and out of the rooms like there was no tomorrow, leaving all kinds of accidental mischief in his wake. Wirt had cleaned up a several puddles of vomit, rescued Jason Funderburker from the toilet, re-shelved all the books in his stepfather's room, snatched his mother's sewing needles out of Greg's reach before he accidentally poked his own eyes out, and rescued Jason Funderburker from the toilet again before the dreaded call finally came.<p>

"...You WHAT?!"

Wirt winced at his stepfather's harsh, piercing voice bellow through the phone. It didn't take a genius to figure out his step-father was mad. Scratch that - his stepfather was _furious_. Bad things happened when his stepfather became furious.

"It was an accident! I-I didn't mean to..."

"You're darn right you didn't mean to!" The voice snarled through the receiver. The voice was now lowered in a curt tone. "Luckily, your mother's already been dropped off at her parent's house. I'm leaving right now. The trip's going to take five hours. _Don't_ cause any more trouble than you've caused." The phone clicked shut abruptly. Wirt groaned, and slid down the wall defeated. Drowning in embarrassment and shame, he wanted to hide in a corner and never come out in a million years...

"WIRT!" Greg shouted gleefully, finally jumping off the couch onto the ground. "Catch me if you can!" The hyperactive child immediately bounded down the hallway.

"Greg! Stay out of my room!" But the little boy was long gone.

_Wasn't alcohol supposed to make the drinker sleepy?_

But then again, when had his brother ever been predictable? Groaning, Wirt unsteadily stumbled after him. Lurching forward in the direction of giggling and suspicious scraping sounds, Wirt opened his bedroom door. Immediately another unpleasant surprise greeted him.

"..Greg?" He murmured cautiously, eyeing the precarious situation.

"Hi Wirt!" Greg chimed, unsteadily clambering onto the desk.

"No sudden moves...Just stand still," Wirt said as soothingly as he could, as if he were coaxing a poisonous cobra. Greg giggled, but stopped, curiously gazing at him with a blank smile. The Eiffel Tower project wobbled dangerously behind his little brother.

"That's it...You're doing a good job, Greg..." Wirt coaxed, tiptoeing closer. "Stay..."

Greg surprisingly stayed completely still as he watched his older brother approach him in fascinated awe. So far, so good; everything was going well. Another step and Wirt could move his project out of harm's way...

"Wirt? Watcha doin?" Greg suddenly asked, tilting his head. But as he did so, his right foot slipped on a pile of popsicle sticks. With a surprised look on his face, Greg dangerously fell off the high desk. The Eiffel Tower project frighteningly flew off in the opposite direction, accidentally kicked off by Greg's left foot.

"No!" Wirt frantically shouted in fear as he watched his beloved project plunge off into freefall...

The teen lunged forward...

...and seized Greg tightly before his little brother could hit the floor. There was a sickening crunch behind him. Still kneeling on the ground, he closed his eyes, unwilling to see the remains of his hard work in pieces.

Greg giggled happily in his arms. "Wirt!"

"Not now, Greg," Wirt muttered quietly. His eyes finally spotted the snapped sticks of wood in a ruin, but he didn't dare relinquish his grasp on his younger brother. Wirt didn't regret his split-second decision: Greg could've gotten seriously injured from the fall. Objects could be remade; people not so. But yet, as he sat there, he couldn't help but feel bitter at the sight of his the painstaking work destroyed in a fluke...Cold frustration finally broke free inside of him, washing over all other his emotions like a tidal wave...

"...Wirt?" Greg seemed to sense his negative emotions, and gazed upwards with frightened look. "Is something wrong?"

But when Wirt looked into those scared brown eyes, he opened his mouth...and hesitated. As much as he was resentful with what had happened, it wasn't Greg's fault. True, Greg had accidentally broken his project and caused all sorts of trouble, but that was because he was drunk. And Greg was only drunk because Wirt had failed to look after him. The familiarity of the situation suddenly hit Wirt out of the blue.

_What if Greg had hit the ground and gotten seriously injured?_

_What if Wirt hadn't been able to save him in time?_

Maybe he was overreacting, but Wirt couldn't help but feel something stuck in his throat. Without warning, he roughly seized Greg and pulled him into an embrace. The little boy froze in his grasp.

"I'm so sorry, Greg," Wirt suddenly choked out, and his arms tightened. "It's all my fault, I'm so sorry I didn't check up on you earlier..." For some stupid reason, he felt his eyes sting, and he blinked rapidly. "Dad's right, I'm awful at taking care of you..."

To his immense surprise, Greg reached up and patted him clumsily on the shoulder. "It's okay, Wirt!" He chirped, his voice somewhat muffled by Wirt's sweater. "I still think you're the bestest brother ever. Love you." Yawning, Greg rubbed his eyes drowsily. "And that's a rock fact." Without warning, his head drooped and the exhausted boy fell into his shocked brother's lap.

After staring at his brother snore lightly in his arms, Wirt gently hoisted the slumbering boy onto his back. He stepped towards Greg's room, but his hand hesitated at the door knob. Who knew what kind of trouble Greg could get into while asleep? What if the little boy threw up in his sleep? What if Greg got a nightmare, but didn't have the strength to cry out for him?

Sighing, Wirt walked back to his own room and carefully tucked Greg into his bed, making sure that the pillows were comfortably placed. As his older brother finally stood up, the little boy whimpered. Without hesitation, Wirt sat next to him and reached forward to gently ruffle his hair.

"Love you too, Greg," he said softly. Greg leaned into his touch, snuggling up against him with a content sigh. Without moving from his spot, Wirt quietly dragged the desk in front of him. Starting all over again, Wirt began to work. Stick...glue...paste...

But this time, he didn't forget to check on his snoozing brother every few seconds.

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><p>Taking hurried glimpses of Greg's smiling form curled up next to him seemed to make the time pass quicker, and in no time, Wirt finally heard car tires smoothly slide over the gravel driveway at 4 in the morning. Reluctantly, Wirt budged from his nightly vigil. Ruffling Greg's hair one last time, he quietly slipped out and shut the bedroom door as his disgruntled stepfather trudged into the house.<p>

"Sit down, young man. We need to talk," the man rumbled, steering him into his study. The door swung shut behind him with an ominous clack.

* * *

><p>Greg awoke, wide awake.<p>

"Good morning, Jason Funderburker!" He called out to the frog tank on his bedside. Except instead of a tank, there a complete mini replica of the Eiffel tower standing on the desk.

Greg frowned. "This isn't my room."

Flashes of memories passed by. He had collapsed after feeling so tired...a reassuring voice...his brother tucking him in...Wirt! Greg felt a warm feeling bubble in his stomach. Greg had strangely felt a little ditzy, but his older brother had taken care of him. Even when he had thrown up. A lot. Just thinking about the unpleasant sensation of vomit sliding out of his throat made Greg feel queasy, but the little boy suddenly sat up, a determined expression on his face.

"I'm going to find Wirt and apologize for throwing up," He said out loud. Racing down the stairs (Only pausing to pop into his room and say a cheery good morning to Jason), he smelled a delicious aroma of scrambled eggs wafting from the kitchen. Greg couldn't help but grin. Greg loved it when Wirt cooked scrambled eggs, because the elder brother would always let Greg draw smiley faces on them with ketchup.

Beaming, Greg burst into the kitchen loudly. "WIRT!"

His brother flinched violently at the loud noise, almost dropping the cooking ladle before he recognized his voice. "Oh. Hi Greg," he said quietly without turning around, eyes fixed on the frying pan.

"I'm sorry for throwing up all over the bathroom yesterday. I think I drank too much juice yesterday." Greg frowned. "And that's bad, 'cause I really had to pee a lot."

"Oh...that doesn't sound good."

Greg pouted. "Why are you such a grumpy grumps today?" He tugged on his brother's shirt. "Come on, Wirt! Say something funny! Or do you want me to tickle you?" Greg abruptly stopped as something caught his attention. "That looked like it hurt a lot."

"Wh-What?" Wirt said startled.

"That bruise on your face." Greg pointed at the gruesome, purplish blue mark covering his brother's swollen cheekbone. He peered closely, clearly making his older brother uncomfortable. "How did you get that?"

Wirt opened his mouth, then closed it several times. "I, uh, fell. Hard. On the stairs," he finally said lamely. Wirt winced; he hated to lie to his younger brother.

"Does it still hurt?" Greg asked in worry, misinterpreting the grimace. "I can get you a band-aid like you did for my arm!" He perked up hopefully, making Wirt chuckle weakly.

"It's okay, Greg," Wirt said softly. "Thanks, but I'll be fine." For some funny reason, his older brother looked more concerned for Greg. "Are you feeling all right?"

Greg shrugged cheerfully. "Eh, I feel a bit tired, but I'm mostly hungry." He scrunched his face into a grimace. "I'm not drinking apple juice ever again."

Wirt smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "No, apple juice is fine. Just stay away from the apple juice dad drinks. That's some strong stuff."

"Really?" Greg said excitedly. "Oh boy, I want to be strong! Can I drink it?"

"No!" His older brother shouted loudly, making Greg jump. "Sorry, Greg," Wilt said, sheepishly rubbing his neck in embarrassment. "But that kind of apple juice is...uh...special. It makes kids sick. Only adults are fine."

"Can I ask dad when he comes back?" Greg asked hopefully.

Wirt tensed slightly, then turned his attention to the frying pan. "No." The sizzling of eggs punctuated the uncomfortable silence. "He stopped by last night to check up on you," he added abruptly. "But he left an hour ago to celebrate his anniversary with mom. They'll be back tomorrow as planned."

"That's fine!" Greg chirped, dancing on his toes. "I want to spend more time hanging out with you today!" His younger brother grinned. "Then one day, maybe I can be just like you!"

Wirt sincerely hoped Greg was wrong. He fervently wished that the innocent bright-eyed child in front of him would never lose his optimistic bright spark. Wirt gently set the scrambled eggs onto the plate. "Do you want to spread the ketchup for me?"

He couldn't help but give a genuine grin as Greg's eyes widened in eagerness. Cheerful clatter of silverware and bright laughter filled that Sunday morning.

Blissful was the unknown.

* * *

><p><strong>Wow, that escalated quickly. The story was meant to be humorous, but I'm a sucker for angst and sibling bonding, hence the dark turn of events. Poor Wirt. :(<strong>


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